The work site smelled like rust and wet stone.
Zonaar arrived ten minutes early, expecting the same old routine: gear up, carry the tools, and head down to the upper tunnels. Instead, he found his name scratched off the board.
A new one was etched in: Team 4 – Deepline Shift.
He stared at it.
"Problem?" came a voice from behind.
Ressan. Older. Thicker shoulders. Always grinning too wide. He was the kind of guy who offered help loud enough for everyone to hear, then took credit twice.
"You're on Deepline today," Ressan said, chewing a string of dried kelp.
"Someone had to take your spot yesterday, so we shuffled a bit. Don't worry. You're still on the list."
"I didn't get approval—"
"Should've told someone you were skipping," Ressan cut in. "Not my job to babysit."
Zonaar clenched his jaw. "Wasn't skipping."
"Sure. Just watching robed brats swing sticks across town, yeah? Heard all about it."
Zonaar didn't reply. A few others snickered nearby. He walked off without looking back.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
The Deepline crew was already gearing up by the reef crates. One of the supervisors — old Yera, whose left eye never quite tracked straight — tossed him a small metal case.
"First dive?" she asked.
He nodded.
She then opened a dull case and pulled out a fang-shaped relic, smooth and pale, etched with basic runes.
"Grade I breather," she said. "Crafted from a drowned serpent-beast. Not rare — just stable."
Zonaar raised a brow. "That's supposed to keep me alive?"
"For five hours, if you don't panic." She pointed to the relic crest along the base. "Slot in a Tier I Agolit, press it to your chest. It'll sink and anchor near your lungs."
"You mean it's going into my chest?"
"It bonds shallow. Won't hurt — unless you fight it. And if you try pulling it out mid-seal, you'll tear your skin."
"Reassuring."
"Flame awakened?"
He shook his head.
"Then stay linked with your anchor crew. Tether slips, you're on your own — and the sea doesn't forgive the ones not blessed."
He took the relic, running a thumb over its curve. It was warm already — maybe from the beast it once belonged to. He slotted a T I Agolit shard into the relic crest. The runes flared once.
Then, bracing himself, he pressed the fang to his chest.
With a flash and a strange pull, it sank into his skin, just below the collarbone.
Zonaar stepped back as the relic finished anchoring.
The fang had disappeared just under his collarbone, leaving behind a faint heat and a tight pressure near his lungs. It didn't hurt — but it didn't feel natural either. Like something foreign was settling into place.
"Don't mess with it," Yera called from ahead. "It's synced now. Try to remove it and you'll rip half your chest open."
He didn't answer. Just adjusted his collar and kept moving.
Near the end of the dock, a squat, armoured transport sat waiting in the water — shaped like the back of a giant sea beetle. Metal plating along the sides, wide hatch at the top, and glowing fins folded against the hull.
It wasn't pretty, but it was solid. The kind of artifact you trusted more than liked.
A few other workers were already climbing in.
"That's a Tier II Currentback," one of them said when he noticed Zonaar staring. "Standard crew transport artifact. Rides the trench current all the way down and back. Just don't throw up."
Inside, it was cramped — benches on either side, a central support pipe, and air filters set into the walls. Zonaar strapped into one of the harness seats, across from a guy already half asleep.
Someone shut the hatch, and the lights dimmed to a muted blue.
A low hum kicked in beneath their feet. The pressure came next — not crushing, just constant, like the sea was testing its grip.
"Starting descent," the pilot said. "Don't talk. Don't move unless told."
The Currentback gave a quiet lurch as it detached from the dock and dropped forward.
Zonaar tensed. The view out the small side window showed coral passing fast, then darker stone. The sea floor opened into a trench, and the artifact slipped inside like a fish diving into a cave mouth.
It got darker fast.
The lights inside adjusted, but the pressure in his ears climbed. The relic at his chest throbbed once — warm, then cool again.
His breath came shallow.
The older woman next to him nodded. "That's the breather syncing. Let it settle."
He didn't respond. Just gripped the straps tighter.
Outside, strange shapes moved in the dark — flashes of movement, something long and finned sliding by the hull.
No one reacted. Normal, apparently.
He sat in silence as the Currentback carried them down.
No glory. No power. Just noise, pressure, and silence.
But even so, something inside him stayed alert.
Watching. Waiting.
Maybe it was the relic.
Maybe it was just nerves.
Whatever waited below — he was already part of it.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
The Currentback rumbled as it slowed.
A final tremor ran through the transport before the rear hatch unlocked with a hiss. Cold, filtered air rushed in — damp, but breathable. A red light above the exit blinked twice.
"Out," the pilot shouted. "Move fast. Mind your footing."
Zonaar unclipped his harness and stood up, legs slightly stiff. His boots hit the platform with a heavy thud — not on seabed, but a rust-coloured metal walkway bolted into the trench wall.
He followed the others down a grated ramp that led into the cavern proper.
The worksite was massive.
A wide dome of stone and sea-crystal arched overhead, reinforced by beams that pulsed faintly with runes. Lantern orbs hung from the walls, giving off soft white-blue light. The floor was uneven, carved out by years of tunnelling, with pools of water and scaffolding on one side.
Dozens of workers were already moving around — hauling crates, inspecting rock, guiding pulley systems. Tools buzzed. Chains clanked. A low hum vibrated beneath the ground.
Zonaar took a slow breath.
He had never seen this place before. Few surface workers ever came down here.
"Keep walking," a voice snapped.
He turned. Yera was behind him, scribbling on a rune-sheet.
"Storage's that way," she added, jabbing a finger left. "Get your loader band and pickaxe. And don't stand in the middle like a starstruck shrimp."
He nodded and headed toward the gear shed.
Inside, another worker — younger, sharp-eyed, wiry — tossed him a curved iron pick and a worn shoulder band fitted with glow-runes.
"First time?" the guy asked, half-smirking.
"Yeah."
"Don't drop the pick. These walls aren't rock. They breathe sometimes."
Zonaar frowned. "What?"
The guy didn't elaborate. Just slapped his own band into place and walked out whistling.
Zonaar followed, strapping on his loader band as instructed.
No one gave him a tour. No one checked his relic. Just more moving bodies and louder sounds. You had to figure things out on the go.
At the far end of the site, a massive spiral tunnel curved deeper into the stone, sealed off by a layered rune gate. It hummed as teams passed through in groups.
That's where he'd be heading soon.
He swallowed. The breather relic in his chest shifted slightly — not painful, but aware, like it was reminding him it existed.
He gripped his pick tighter.
No going back now.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧